


dirty little moments

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Animalistic Sex, Badass!Cas, Biting, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, PWF, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Quickie, Rimming, Rough Sex, So yeah, Teacher/Student, Teasing, cas omg you can't just own people, dean is a bottom, dubious morality not dubious consent, just lots of sex, possessive!Cas, schoolboy! dean, set in a nebulous AU where my fave characters are still alive, teacher!Cas, that boy is a bottom, underage by american standards sex, where i come from the age of consent is 16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:27:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4905454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mindless destiel  porn because im too lazy to write proper stories. </p><p>part three: dean's got a mouth like a knife in the dark, and mr novak gives into temptation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. dirty little moment

**Author's Note:**

> snippets of smut. mainly cas/dean but also whatever pairings i fancy writing. the barest semblance of plot but mainly pretty boys getting it on

Cas has a war to fight, but sometimes he needs a moment -- just a moment -- a single heartbeat when all isn't fight and flight and flurry, when he doesn't have to watch his brothers and sisters burn, when he doesn't have to be a warrior, a leader, a king 

(a god)

something dreadful and powerful and brilliant and shining. So. So he has his moment and his moment has a name, a face. Dean Winchester is not generally the port ina  storm. He's an armful of wildness, a tumble of scars and fury, he leaves wreckage in his wake -- for most people welcoming him into their bed is the equivalent of flinging open the windows in the middle of a hurricane. 

Cas is not most people. 

Dean opens his mouth, teeth and tongue and sharpness and Cas loves kissing, this human peculiarity -- angels don't kiss. It is  _wonderful_. He tastes Dean, the organic richness of him: ash and alcohol. He cups Dean's face in his hands and fucks his mouth with his tongue, sloppy and inelegant, like he wants to eat him alive. He  _does_ want to eat him alive, chew and swallow, nothing left. Pick bits of Dean out of his teeth with shards of bone. Yes.  _Yes_. 

He bites Dean's tongue. Shoves him back. They're in a grotty little motel in the middle of a hunt -- Dean was crouched over a laptop when Cas arrived. The room is dreadful. It is musky with age. Spiders breed in the corners. 

Cas draws back. Dean's face is the most beautiful thing in the world: lips slick and reddened, pupils blown, his mouth hanging slack.

He shouldn't. He's got a war to fight.

He does anyway. Kicks Dean's feet into a more amenable position, then changes his mind and hoists Dean on top of paperwork and a laptop and the edge of said laptop bites a mark onto his back

Dean opens his legs further, obliging. There's a sharp curl to his mouth again and Cas just wants to split the curl into a gasp, the gasp into a scream. "Come on angel," drawls Dean, lazy and smirking, an armful of something wild. "Give it to me."

And Cas, Father help him, does.

A snap of his fingers: Dean is naked, _flayed,_ vulnerable. Unabashed -- though a little shocked -- Dean lounges, revelling in his nudity, leonine and proud, his cock jutting upwards raw and weeping. Yes. Oh yes. Cas swallows him down eagerly -- he tastes sharp, bitter and so very very  _human_ \-- and Dean moans, whines, his hips rolling and snapping. Cas is an angel. He has no gag reflex. Dean slides down into the confines of his throat effortlessly, moaning and blissful. He cums in thirty seconds flat, flushing red. 

Human males have this odd idea that they must hold out, restraining their orgasm. Castiel does not understand this. He shoves Dean back onto the desk and fumbles his trousers open, shoving them around his knees. He wants, and so he takes. He wants Dean and wants him  _now_ and there is no joy in delaying his pleasure -- he waves his hand over Dean and in a moment the Hunter is slick and open and ready. Castiel pushes in. It is wet and warm and oh so  _tight_ and Dean utters this broken whining sounds, bitten off here and there, building in intensity as the head of Castiel's cock nudges his prostate. Dean's half-hard again. Cas jerks him off half-heartedly, out of a sense of obligation more than anything else - and after Dean moves his hand to take over Castiel gives up entirely. 

Instead he focuses on plunging in, hard and deep and remorseless, chasing the hot silver flash of his orgasm -- it is there, he tastes it, building like something wonderful on the back of his tongue. He's not used to human sensations, not really, and fucking is one of those things he wished he'd started doing sooner. He holds Dean down, snaps his hips forwards until Dean starts to cry out his name like a benediction 

(like a prayer)

and Cas sees white, sees stars, and cums.

He presses a quick, clumsy kiss to Dean's temple and vanishes in a whirl of wings. He has a war to fight -- and a moment is just a moment, however wonderful.


	2. sugar you're going down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the human body is a wonder, cas thinks. dean's is especially marvellous.

The human body is a masterpiece of his Father's work. The organic chemistry churning away behind skin that tears so easily and knits together so quickly, hearts and lungs and kidneys all working in perfect harmony; soft, fibrous fur sproinging from the scalp; bones that stand strong under immense pressure, but heal with remarkable alacrity. A horse with a broken leg would die of shock -- a human  keeps going, constant and brave, and is it not proof of Father's ineffable glory? The human body. The best thing in this world or the next.

Specifically --  _Dean's_ body. 

His skin tastes of sweat -- his sweat is bitter-salt with a hint of whisky -- his skin is smooth and yielding under Castiel's tongue. Cas has never done anything of this sort before. The pizza man, with all his moaning and thrusting, could not hope to be one tenth of this...utopian. He maps Dean's chest with rapture. He licks and nuzzles at every inch of him, noting where Dean starts to squirm and whine. The masterpiece of a body has parts which are more sensitive -- he notes these and moves on, despite Dean's pleas to linger. 

Yes. So here is a nipple -- male humans have them, for reasons he does not understand; like thorny genitalia on cats he can only assume that it is one of his Father's great cosmic jokes -- and Dean starts to protest, "Cas I'm not a  _chick_ \--" but his voice skews high onto a moan as Cas bites down. He enjoys biting. He likes feeling his jaws move, slick and effortless, and the give of flesh and -- he pulls back -- the red imprint of his teeth on Dean's chest, ringing his nipple, a signature. A claim. He's got his handprint on Dean's soul -- but this is, somehow, more intimate.

He kisses Dean again. His mouth is a thing of wonder. Cas laps into it, clicks his teeth companionably against Dean's -- (earns himself a  _what the fuck_ , notes: humans do not do this) -- and nips at Dean's tongue. The tongue is a magnificent muscle. All twisting and dancing. It splays wide against Cas's shoulder as Dean reciprocates Cas's open-mouthed exploration. 

"Cas, stop  _teasing_ ," Dean begs, not long after. Cas dips his tongue into the hollow between hipbone and testicle. Dean's pubic hair crinkles under his face. He smells musky, sweaty, not unpleasant at all. 

"What do you wish me to do?" Cas says, all big-eyed innocence. He does not know which areas of his lover are best to touch. He knows that he loves every inch of Dean's body, that there is not a part of it he doesn't want to rub against and nuzzle at -- but Dean, it seems, has preferences.

"Suck me off."

Cas nudges Dean's cock with the point of one finger. It is hard and throbbing and an angry colour.

Humans enjoy having their genitals touched. Castiel thinks that it is a frightful shame that human sex is so often neglectful -- focusing on one, two, three points rather than the whole beautiful expanse of human skin.

 He has an idea. 

It is a  _good_ idea. 

"Roll over," he says, and when Dean does not immediately comply Cas flips him over. Dean is so light, so delicate in the arms of an angel. Cas licks Dean's spine, his flanks, his nape. When Dean starts to struggle, to whine protest into the pillow, Cas nudges at his shoulder. "Count to ten," he says, "and I will give you what you want."

Dean glowers. But he counts. 

"One. Two. Three --"

Castiel hastens. He licks downwards again, following the spine like an arrow, caressing the curves of Dean's arse with open palms and spread-open fingers. 

There are certain perks to being an angel. Castiel uses a wash of his Grace to...make matters a little easier, shall we say. 

And then he pushes his tongue  _in_.

Dean makes the following sound: " _OhmygodCasholyfuckingSHIT_." 

Cas smiles. He licks in deeper, flicking at Dean's prostate before withdrawing. He sucks at two of his fingers, lazy and interested. Dean is flushing red. The blush runs like a tide, all the way down his back. 

Cas nudges his index finger in. His Grace has made things a little easier -- and cleaner, he will assure Dean later, because Dean is making a face that is part pained arousal and part disgust -- and wiggles it about. Dean's muscles contract around his knuckles, instinct, trying to expel the intruder. Cas sighs happily and eases in another finger. Then another. He works three fingers in and out, slow and easy, like he has all the time in the world. Dean's voice breaks open. "Cas," he says, "oh God, oh Cas."

"I'm not God," Cas says. He rubs his erection back and forth, along Dean's crack -- on the third, or fourth, sweep past it just slides in. Natural. Like it is meant. Like some divine plan. 

Dean mewls. Cas watches in fascination as the ring of muscle expands to accommodate his length. He pulls out. It starts to return to its normal diameter -- Dean makes a low, lost sound and wriggles his hips in invitation (and demand).

The human body is perfection, Cas thinks, and pushes himself all the way in, without giving Dean time to draw breath. He grabs the nape of Dean's neck between his teeth as he ruts -- Dean utters a high, protesting cry that makes Cas reconsider his belief that neck-biting is a normal part of mammalian intercourse (this does not mean he will not continue to do it) -- in deeper, harder, oh yes, oh  _there_ \-- and Dean comes all over the sheet and Cas follows him, buried in deep. He waits for a moment. 

"Cas," Dean says, broken and low. "Are you hard again?"

Cas smirks. He starts to roll his hips back and forth. "I'm an angel,Dean. There are bonuses."


	3. mouth and hips and words like knives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dean's got a mouth like a knife in the dark, and the sharp confidence of youth and mr novak gives into temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shameless teacher/student porn. underage by us law, not so much by uk -- thus i do not feel guilty for writing it
> 
> tw for those who need them: dean is sixteen and a very consenting party. castiel is in his early thirties.

Dean's feral, Miss Masters says once -- her mouth quirked high, her hip thrust out like she's making a point with it, and she's irresistible, beautiful, a red ripe shiver of a woman; if autumn was a person it would be Megan Masters. A lush curl of conker-dark hair over smooth-sloping shoulders and a mouth dipped burgundy. Cas should want her, because she wants him, because she drives the faculty wild with a fan of her long dense lashes and. And yet. She says the words like they're nothing, like Dean isn't a boy -- a livewire firefly boy with a scuffle-kick of blonde hair and a clever clever brain that he tries so hard to hide. 

Like Dean isn't a boy, all potential tied up in the ugly constraints of a father never there, a father who tells him that the baby boy -- Sam -- should be the centre of Dean's world. 

Like Dean is a fox or a raccoon, something to be kicked to the gutter and left to rot. Something to be poisoned and trapped.

Feral is a terrible word to pin on a boy. Cas slants his lips into something that might be seen as a smile and grabs his coffee and goes to mark some papers. 

\--

Dean's got a mouth like a knife in the dark, sharp hips and sharper words and he flirts with all the girls and all the boys and the girls always flirt back and -- much to Cas's surprise (he was at high school in the nineties, times have changed) -- the boys often flirt back as well. 

Teenagers are randy messes.

The problem?

One flutter of Dean's long lashes, one tug of his lips and Mr Novak finds he is as well. 

\--

It isn't something purely physical. Yes: Dean is the most beautiful boy in the world, and Cas is not blind -- but it is so much more than that. 

There's a girl. Her name is Lilith. She's beautiful, young, cocky. Cas doesn't like her -- most of the teachers don't -- she flirts and twirls her hair and bullies the other girls shamelessly. 

She has a boyfriend. His name -- or, at least his nickname -- is Lucifer. 

He beats her black and blue. Cas doesn't know this. No one knows this -- but Dean, somehow, finds out and breaks Lucifer's arm in four places, puts him in a fucking  _coma_ and Lilith clings to Dean's arm for weeks after, smiling a raw, genuine smile -- staring at him like he's a hero, an angel.

No one ever presses charges. 

\--

Summer looms: a hungry, red-furred beast. 

Dean comes to him after everyone else has fucked off home.

"I see you," he says. "I see you watching me."

\--

Cas wants to vomit. He wants to weep. 

He wants --

\--

"I don't know what you mean," he says. 

"You look at me like --"

"You're the bravest boy I've ever met," says Cas, in a rush, desperate to get his thoughts out. "You're beautiful and wonderful and --"

Dean shuts him up. He kisses him. It is hungry, and a wonderful honey-sweet moment. Cas tangles his fingers into Dean's soft hair and lets the smaller boy bully him against the desk. Dean kisses him like a challenge. Like something

(feral)

wild, wonderful. 

Cas slips his tongue into Dean's mouth, slow and gentle, ignoring the boy's desperate tugs at his hair and jacket. He feels Dean's erection nudging his hip and fights the impulse to grab at it. He focuses instead on kissing Dean, savouring every moment. Dean makes an impatient, hungry sound and tries to jerk Cas's jacket off.

"Slow down," Cas chides.

"There's no one here," snaps Dean. "I want you to --"

"I'm not going to fuck you," Cas says. "Not here, not yet," he adds in a flurry as Dean pulls back, rejection blooming terrible and bright in his wonderful, wonderful eyes. 

"Not yet?"

"Not yet. I want you to kiss me."

Dean rolls his eyes and presses his mouth back against Cas's. He's so small, so sharp. Cas runs his palms over the points of Dean's back -- he feels shoulderblades like vestigial wings, the ridge of a spine. 

This continues for a while: Cas drinking Dean in, using his mouth and hands to take the boy apart. Dean ruts against him, whining. Cas can't help but chuckle. 

"C'mon dude," says Dean. "I've gotta pick Sam up from practice in half an hour -- please, give me  _something_ \--"

Cas rolls his eyes. Guilt gnaws at the back of his mind, but the hunger in Dean's eyes pushes it down. 

And pushes  _him_ down. 

He guides Dean around, pushes him back against the blackboard and kneels down. Dean makes a high, impatient sound. 

Cas mouths at his zip, running his tongue up and down cool metal teeth until Dean snarls, "Oh God just _suck me off_ -"

A light tut. "Impatient." But Cas is nothing but obliging. He tugs Dean's zip down and repeats the process on his boxers, licking and sucking at the head and --

Dean cums. A dark stain spreads across his crotch and Cas smells the thick musk of sex, tinted with adolescent shame, and he bursts out laughing. 

Dean flushes, makes to leave but Cas pulls him back, kisses him hard -- like a stamp of ownership. "Give it ten minutes," he says, "and we'll try again."

Outside: summer flares hot and endless, and Cas feels as content as he has ever been. Until Dean bites his ear. 

"Dirty old man."

"Brat."


End file.
